


such distance from our friends, like a scratch across the lens

by likewinning



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, M/M, general spoilers for the first three movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for comment_fic, for the theme "prostitution, Bobby/John, this isn't how he thought he would find John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	such distance from our friends, like a scratch across the lens

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen Days of Future Past yet so there are zero spoilers for that and obviously this is a bit of canon divergence. Title from mewithoutYou.

Over the years, Bobby has tried to think less and less of John. After John left the school, Bobby was obsessed, for a while, with the idea that John would come back, with the idea that he would figure out that he needed them (needed _Bobby_ ).

He gave that up, after he saw John burn down a building full of people. He gave up the idea that John could be convinced to come back, to be something better than a soldier.

But he didn't give up on saving him, somehow, which is why after everything at Alcatraz, he still couldn't kill John. Couldn't let him die. He's sure, somewhere, he has a killer inside himself, sure that everyone does, but he couldn't do it. He let John go, some small part of him believing that without his leader, John might find his way back to the X-Men, someday.

Most of him, though – the rational part that understood why Rogue took the cure – figured he'd never see John again.

He never thought he'd find him in a bar, offering himself up to anyone willing to pay.

It's by complete accident that Bobby even finds out. He's in Boston, waiting in some dive to meet with a contact who so far hasn't shown, when out of the corner of his eye he notices John.

At first, he isn't even sure it's him. His hair is brown again, longer than Bobby's ever seen it, and he's thinner than Bobby remembers. His jeans are too tight, and there's something about the way he moves around the bar that makes Bobby think of an animal in a cage.

John doesn't even see him, at first. He talks up one guy, middle aged and clearly a bit drunk but wearing a suit that even Bobby knows is expensive, and then the two of them disappear to the men's room. Bobby's contact shows up and they talk, but Bobby's distracted, wondering when John will come back, wondering how long this has been going on and, though he tries to bury the question, _why._

"You okay, kid?" the woman meeting with him asks before she heads back out, and Bobby startles, then nods, trying not to bristle at being called _kid_. "I'm fine," he assures her. "Thank you," he adds. She leaves, and Bobby should, too, but he can't. He orders his first drink of the night besides water, and settles in to wait.

It doesn't take long. Soon enough, John and the guy come back out; the guy leaves, and John doesn't. With only the briefest pause, he starts circling the room again, all smiles and slightly predatory stares. Bobby forgot that John can do that, that he _can_ be more than sarcasm and rage, fire and fear.

Bobby drinks his beer and waits, he's not sure what for, occasionally glancing behind him from the bar to see if John's still there. He needs to leave, head back to the school, maybe give the others the heads up that Pyro's not dead – but he doesn't. He waits, and after a while, he feels a hand land on his shoulder.

"Buy me a drink?" asks a familiar voice, and Bobby turns to look at him, and John freezes where he is, like Bobby stopped him there in time.

John mumbles _sorry, man_ and starts to back away, but Bobby stops him, says, "John." Grabs his arm, says, " _Pyro_ ," and John wrenches out of his grip, but stays where he is, staring at Bobby like he's a ghost. "It's just John now," he says.

Bobby stares at him, can't believe he didn't see it. With Rogue, it was the same way; she looked a little smaller, a little less alive. Like a once-bright flame, flickering.

He doesn't need to, but to prove it, John takes out his zippo, flicks it open. Nothing happens – even the zippo's out of juice.

Bobby wants to say he isn't sorry. That after everything, John's lucky to be alive, lucky to be free. But instead he asks, "When?"

"Buy me a drink?" John repeats, softer this time. Bobby stares at him, and John rolls his eyes. "It's not prostitution unless I blow you, Iceman."

"Fine," Bobby says, shrugging, and John looks at the bartender. "Jack and coke," he says, and then he sits down next to Bobby. He fidgets with a couple coasters, and says, "Right after Alcatraz. Someone recognized me in a diner and called the cops. I got away, but not before they shot me up with the cure."

Bobby's not sorry, he _isn't_ , but it's hard not to say he is. Being a mutant, being different, means a lot to Bobby, but to John, he remembers, it meant just about everything.

What Bobby says is, "When no one had heard from you in a while, I thought you might be dead."

John's drink arrives and he sucks it down, Adam's apple bobbing with each chug. This close, Bobby can see the circles under John's eyes, the way his shoulder blades jut out from his v-neck t-shirt.

"When it happened," John says, setting his drink on the counter, "I wished I was." He pushes some hair away from his face, and looks around the room. It takes Bobby a second to realize John's looking for his next job.

"So," John says, turning back to Bobby. He grins at him, a shadow of the fierceness Bobby remembers. "You gonna take me in?"

Bobby shakes his head. He decided half an hour ago he wouldn't. "I probably should," he says."Whatever way you turn it, you're a criminal."

"But that good heart of yours won't let you turn in an old friend?" John taunts.

"No," Bobby says. "It's just that I know they've already done the worst thing they can do to you."

The smirk falls from John's lips, and Bobby feels a small sense of triumph low in his gut, buried beneath layers of guilt. He should've done more. He would've done anything.

"What are you doing here, John?" Bobby asks.

"Working," John says. His eyes are all defiance again, but no matter how angry he gets, Bobby knows, he won't set this place on fire.

" _Why_?" Bobby asks. John's gaze is on the rest of the room again, scanning, but when Bobby says his name, he turns back. "I've always believed in playing your strengths. Wouldn't you say this is one of mine?"

Bobby would. Of course he would. He and John shared a dorm room for years. They weren't each other's first kiss; Bobby might not have even been John's first anything, for all John ever talked about life outside of school, but as much as he's tried to forget all the good with the bad, he can't.

"Hey," John says. He waves his hand in front of Bobby's face. "Quit looking at me like I'm a puppy that you gotta save, okay?"

Bobby snorts. "No one would ever call you a puppy, John," he says. John has killed people. He's killed them, and he's enjoyed it. These are things Bobby has to remind himself of when he thinks about John.

"Maybe an attack dog," John says, and Bobby just about laughs. He forgets, sometimes, that John used to make him do that.

"There it is," John says, catching him smile. "I was wondering if you were going to sit here and scowl at me all night."

Bobby shakes his head. "What do you expect me to do, John?"

"Buy me another drink." It's not a question, this time. John's looking right at him, and there's fire in his eyes like Bobby hasn't seen in years – not the psycho killer kind, but the kind that brings on frantic fumblings, hissed confessions, warm skin.

"John," Bobby tries.

"You look good, Bobby," John says, and Bobby guesses, maybe, he does. He has three days of stubble and he knows he must look tired from a long week (month, year), but Kitty's always telling him he's finally grown out of that baby face, that he looks _almost like a grown-up_. Bobby thinks Kitty's one to talk, but whatever.

"You do, too," Bobby says, and it's not entirely the truth, but not exactly a lie. He's thinner and he looks about as tired as Bobby feels, but he looks, too, a little calmer, a little less ready to take out any damn thing that gets in his way.

"So –" John starts, and Bobby says, "Come back with me." John's face twists, like he's not sure whether to laugh or yell or cry. He settles, it seems, on something in between. "You're kidding, right?"

He's not. That's the thing. Hours ago, Bobby thought he'd never seen John again, and he thought he didn't care. Now, all he knows is he doesn't want John here, doing this. John's not a solider anymore, maybe not even his friend, but he's not _this_.

"Bobby," John says. He leans in close, and Bobby can smell booze and cigarettes and cheap aftershave. "Go home, man."

"Come with me," Bobby tries again. Not desperate, not pleading, just – there. An offer on the table. He touches John's wrist, but John pulls back – gently, this time. Nothing about John has ever been gentle.

"No, Bobby," John says. Bobby doesn't ask why, not again, but John's eyes meet his and he says, "I tried to kill you, Bobby, and you were my best friend. Who knows what I'd do to the rest of them?"

Bobby doesn't say anything. He knows John's right, that even powerless, bringing John back would be a threat to everyone. He knows, too, that there is a very small part of him that doesn't care.

He watches John pull away, stand up. John reaches for Bobby's beer bottle and turns to head back into the crowd, but then he pauses, and holds the bottle out to Bobby. "Help me out?" he asks, and Bobby obliges, reaches forward and grasps the bottle until it cools, fingers brushing John's just for a second. Then with a nod of thanks John's gone, back to work, and Bobby – with one last look back when he reaches the doorway – is back to work as well.


End file.
